


Climbing Buddies

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: A little angst, Bonding, Dick Grayson is Robin, Family, Fluff, Gen, Piggyback Ride, sprained ankle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Dick sprains his ankle and has to get a ride home from patrol from Bruce.





	Climbing Buddies

**Author's Note:**

> This is set fairly early in Dick and Bruce's partnership as Batman and Robin.

Dick closed his eyes for a moment as the chilly Gotham air tickled his face. He could almost feel it through his mask, chilling the material then the skin underneath. Teasing its way past spirit glue and twisting under it to brush at his eyes under the lenses. It didn’t, but it was fun to imagine.

“Hey, B?” Dick said, opening his eyes to focus on the black kevlar in front of him, “Why do you think there aren’t any air or wind themed villains in Gotham?”

Bruce didn’t answer, so Dick did it for him. He did that a lot, filled in the spaces in conversation. Completed his own thoughts and answered his own questions. He liked making sure there was little between he and Bruce, and he did it with words. If he left everything up to his new guardian they’d be silent all the time. He didn't care for silence. He was used to the air being filled with the chatter of people and the hum of life. Animals and shifting bodies. Dick was pretty sure silence was the only thing worse than his current sprained ankle.

“I think it’s because they think about it and go, ‘What am I gonna do with air? Knock the Batman over like the big bad wolf?’”  
  
Bruce grunted. Dick wasn’t sure if that was an answer to his wondering or if it was because he’d just pulled them further up the building. Grunts, he was learning, were Bruce’s favorite form of communication. Long ones. Short ones. Loud. Quiet. Irritated. Pleased. He’d tried taking notes, but given that up as quickly as he usually did in school. Then he started asking Alfred what one or another meant. Finally he just started guessing. He was getting pretty good at it. Most of the time.

“Then I thought, wouldn’t it be cool if you could actually knock someone over with wind? But that’d have to be like tornado powers and not just wind. Or you could make it go so fast it picked up water, or other things, and wham! Run them into people.”

Bruce reached up to grip a window ledge but his hand slipped. Dick heard him mutter a curse as they swung for a second. Bruce caught the ledge firmly the second time and pulled them up further.

“Alfie would make you put in a dollar for that one.” Dick mused.

Another grunt, this one decidedly irritated. Dick grinned and let his head fall against Bruce’s shoulder. He studied the focused line of Bruce’s mouth and the little cleft in his chin he got when he was gritting his teeth. There were specks of five o’clock shadow dotting his face. More like midnight shadow since Dick had watched Bruce chip away at the little whiskers peeking out shortly before patrol.

“You know.” Dick said, “I bet you could steal the air from someone’s lungs with wind power. Suck it all out. That’d be terrible. Like reverse drowning. Instead’a having too much stuff in your lungs you don’t have anything.”

He shuddered imagining it. Like his lungs seizing trying to grasp at the littlest bit of air left. Kind of like when he’d try to hold his breath as long as he could and his chest would jerk asking for air. They'd jerk and jerk and nothing would come in. 

“Why,” Bruce grunted, “are you trying to come up with ways for villains to kill us?”

“You gotta be prepared, B.” Dick said earnestly, “You always tell me that.” he gruffed up his voice into an approximation of Bruce’s Batman growl, “Prepare for everything, even your friends turning on you.”

“Hrn.”

Dick giggled, then winced as Bruce pulled them at last onto the roof. His foot caught for a second against the lip of the roof and his ankle reminded him why he was being carried. Not for fun, but because it was swollen and angry. He’d been too eager fighting a group of jewelry store robbers earlier in the night and ended up with his foot caught in a fallen display. He was lucky the broken glass hadn’t caught his skin, but just torn his boot.

Now that it wasn’t hindered by the building the wind caught Dick’s hair in a whirl and tossed it every which way. He shivered as it teased goosebumps up on his arms and legs and gripped tighter around Bruce’s neck.

“Too bad your grapple broke and added to the night’s mess eh, B?” Dick said, teeth chattering slightly, “You weren’t prepared for everything tonight, which I’d say is a good lesson.”

“Brat.” Bruce said, but Dick could see the way one corner of his mouth tilted up, pulled like the twinkle in Bruce’s eyes had strings attached to it. Glittery and pleased and unable to keep the emotion from his whole face.

Bruce shifted and tugged at the black cape under Dick, tugging it free so he could loop it around behind them. Warmth stopped the chattering Dick was fighting and he took the corner Bruce handed him to keep the cape tightly in place.

“I’m having Alfred order you some winter tights. Then, maybe we’ll line your cape with fur.” Bruce mused.

Dick would swear to anyone Bruce was eyeing him from behind his white lenses. Giving him the ‘I won’t have you arguing over it.’ look. After tonight he’d be happy to agree to something warmer as winter closed in. Dick nodded his answer and snuggled his face closer to Bruce’s shoulder.  
  
“Do you think the Riddler has a winter costume? With his suit lined with fur? And what about Mr. Freeze? Does he have a summer suit even colder than his current one? I wonder if it ever gets cold enough here he doesn’t need the big thing.”

Bruce was moving across the roof to a neighboring one. It was close enough Dick knew he was planning to jump. Then one more roof and a climb and they’d be at the car.

“I wonder if Scarface has a winter outfit? Maybe a little coat made just for him? He’s a puppet but I bet he complains about the cold too. You know what? I just had a thought. A guy who could control the wind would be able to make it warm or cold whenever he wanted, he could call in a warm breeze or a cold one.”

Bruce jumped and Dick felt his stomach leap with them. His cheek brushed Bruce’s stubble and suddenly he was with his dad again, tandem jumping across the trapeze in his first flight across. He was filled with all the excitement and awe of that first swing, his heart blooming. His cheek brushing his dad's stubbled cheek as he whooped with joy.

Then they landed and Dick’s stomach fell as hard as it had flown. Tears pricked his eyes, stuck by the mask. He pressed his lips together and tugged the cape a bit tighter around him. He sucked in air trying to squeeze the tears back into his eyes and stop his cheeks and nose from getting red.

He was the worst crier, so obvious with the way his face got all blotchy and his eyes puffed. Mom said he was a messy crier because when he cried it was with everything in him. He felt a bit like everything wanted to escape right now, but he held it in place. He didn’t want to make Bruce any more worried than he already was about his ankle. Adding crying to the list might just prove Dick wasn’t cut out to be his partner, and Dick needed this. He needed it like the air in his lungs and the ache pressing against them. Like the hitch that signaled a need to breathe.

“You okay, Chum?” Bruce asked, “The jump didn’t hurt your ankle did it?”

“‘m fine.” Dick said.

Silence drifted over them as Bruce crossed the next roof, this one wasn’t flat. Dick let him focus on not slipping over shingles and getting them safely to the other side. It was less letting Bruce focus and more of Dick fighting the urge to cry. Every time he thought the tears were gone his brain would remind him that his Mom wouldn’t be at home to wrap his ankle. It told him his dad wasn’t going to wake him up early for training, white powder already brushed across his forehead from an early practice.

When the immediate faded his brain wasn’t finished with him. It reminded him that neither parent would teach him to drive or pat his back when he finished school. Neither would chide him for not brushing his teeth. And. And. And, if only they were there to come to his parent teacher conferences. He'd give just about anything for that.

It was stupid. He had Bruce for that now. Bruce with his gentle smile and his careful words. His huge warm hugs and his callused hands so big they wrapped all the way around Dick’s. He loved Bruce, but Bruce wasn’t his parents and was it so bad to miss them while someone else was taking care of him? Was he cheating? Cheating everyone? Did he even deserve--

“I’ve seen Scarface in a full winter coat.” Bruce said, “You would have laughed at how his hands poked out of the sleeves and his mouth shook the fur around his head.”

“Yeah?” Dick asked, hoping his voice sounded rough from being quiet, instead of his held back tears.

“Yes. It looked like it was stolen off a doll at the store. In fact, it probably was. We were in a toy store when I saw him like that.”

Dick snorted, “He robbed a toy store for a coat?”

Bruce’s mouth quirked again, “That’s what it looked like. He gave the excuse of their being something valuable there, but.”

“He was lying.” Dick provided. “Man, I wish I’d seen that.”

“I think he still has it.” Bruce said, “And as for Nygma, there was a horrible green coat he used to wear, with felt question marks all over it.”

“What happened to it?” Dick asked.

Now Bruce did smile, “I burned it. Right in front of him, too.”

“No.” Dick gasped, “B, how could you? I bet it was his pride and joy.” This time he tilted his voice high and nasally in a terrible imitation of Nygma’s voice.

They were climbing down the other side of the building, but Bruce had found a fire escape, so he kept talking. He told Dick all about the coat and Nygma’s outrage at its destruction. Then he told him about how Flash could move so fast he could actually cut off air if he tried.

Soon they were down and Bruce was hauling Dick off his shoulders and into the car. Dick was busy asking why he hadn’t met Flash yet. And when could he meet him? And how come Bruce always kept the best surprises from him, like Superman when was he gonna get to meet him? He paused long enough for Bruce to walk around to the driver’s side and peppered him with questions again. Which heroes did he not know about yet? How come Bruce didn’t spend more time with them? Did they have a club, were they going to have a club? Could Dick be part of it?

Bruce actually put a finger against Dick’s lips when they pulled into the cave. “Hush or Alfred will think you faked your sprain just to get home early.”

Dick’s eyes widened, “He would not.” he said, his lips brushing the ridged edges of Bruce’s glove.

He was pretty sure he got an eye roll for that, but B was still in the cowl so it was fifty-fifty.

Alfred did not think Dick was faking it. He had to cut the rest of Dick’s boot off his foot had swollen so much. They were afraid it was a break, but one eternity of a scan later told them it was simply a bad sprain.

Dick was exhausted, and his eyes were heavy after Alfred gave him a pill for the pain. He let Bruce carry him back upstairs and tuck him into bed with little more than a murmur. He fought his eyes long enough to pipe up one more time.

“Hey, B?”

“Hmm?” Bruce said, stopping to turn back to him.

“Come here a sec.” Dick waved.

Bruce stepped forward, and Dick motioned for him to lean down. When he did, Dick sat up enough to throw his arms around Bruce’s neck again, warm and free of kevlar, his hair smelling a bit like Dick’s shampoo (he’d always said his shampoo was better than Bruce's). He hugged him tight, leaned back and gave him a kiss on his stubbly cheek.

“Thanks.” he said.

Bruce smiled, “Of course.” he said, then gave Dick a kiss on his head before tucking him back in, “Sleep well, Chum.”

“You too, B. Don’t let the wind monsters bite.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and clicked out the lights. Dick could just hear a little chuckle as the door clicked shut.

 


End file.
